Shooting Without a Script
by xbohogirlx
Summary: Alone - a word to describe Roger after April leaves him. He's forced to take care of his daughter by himself until one day things go awry.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well, hi there, I see you stumbled upon my little fic here. I used to write Harry Potter fanfiction, but I've moved on to bigger and brighter things – that being RENT! I'm a RENThead for sure =] Anywho, this is my first RENT fic, so be kind. I was just writing it for the hell of it and I wasn't going to post it – but alas, here I am posting it. Enough about me.  
  
None of the characters are mine, they are credited to the AMAZING Jonathan Larson. The plot is original...it belongs to me =)  
  
If I don't get reviews I just won't post any more of this and I'll just move on. Like I said, it wasn't written for any specific reason...just to cure my boredom.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Mark opened the door and threw his arms in the air. "Honey, I'm home," he sang. His happiness left him when he saw his best friend and room mate on the couch, with a distraught look on his face.  
  
"You ok Rug?" Mark asked as he strolled over to the couch where Roger was seated.  
  
Roger looked up at Mark, who could see the tears building in his best friend's eyes.  
  
"I'd take that as a no. What's wrong? Where's April?" Mark asked, sitting on the arm of the couch.  
  
Roger picked up a small piece of paper and handed it to his friend of many years. He threw his face into his hands, trying to hide the tears that escaped his eyes.  
  
Mark read the note.  
  
Roger,  
  
I'm leaving and I won't be back. Take care of Erica...and yourself, of course.  
  
Remember, I will love you forever. This is just something that I have to do.  
  
Tell the gang I said goodbye and tell them I love them.  
  
April  
  
Not knowing what to say, Mark tossed the note back onto its resting spot on the table. He looked down at Roger, who returned a glance. They were both lost for words. Confusion overcame them. Neither could understand why Roger's wife would feel the need to get up and leave. The marriage was one of the most successful marriages that Mark had ever seen. He and his girlfriend Maureen fought nearly everyday, while April and Roger never had an argument—except one. That fight was certainly a doozy. Things were thrown every which way and unforgivable things were said—all because April had confessed to Roger that she was pregnant. As soon as April had said, "Roger, I'm pregnant," he had stormed out of the apartment on her. But after that fight four years before, they had never fought again.  
  
"You ok man? What am I talking about...of course you're not...are you?" Mark asked. He wasn't quite sure what to say.  
  
Roger shook his head and let out a laugh, saying, "I'm a fuck up dude. What can I do about it? And now I have to raise a kid by myself. Do you really think I'm ok?"  
  
Mark put his hand on Roger's shoulder. "Look man, you're not alone. We'll help out with Erica, you know we'll help. We'll help you pull through this man." A smile managed to creep across Roger's face. Mark didn't know if it was forced, but he didn't care. A forced smile was better than no smile at all.  
  
"I know you guys will help...but April was the only one of us who actually had some sort of steady income. Without her, there's no money in this place. Might as well just stab myself and kill myself sooner. I'm just going to starve to death. We won't even have enough money for a bag of chips or a beer or anything," he said.  
  
Mark thought for a second. "Roger, you're 26. Maybe it's due time you get a job?"  
  
Roger gave him a rude glare. "Mark you're my age and all you do is run around with that fucking camera. You're not so stable yourself."  
  
"I didn't knock my girlfriend up. I don't have a kid to look after. I'm supporting me and only me. You on the other hand," Mark replied. His tone was loud and angry. Maybe he shouldn't have offered his help to Roger. He wouldn't have if he would've known his "best friend" would've just been an ungrateful bastard. "You need to grow up Roger. You need to put your Fender away and pick up a briefcase and go make something of yourself. Show your kid...and us...that you're really not a complete fuck up."  
  
"Erica's only four. She doesn't know how much of a fuck up I am...yet," Roger said quietly, hoping Mark wouldn't be able to hear him.  
  
Mark heard him.  
  
"Rog, look. You can raise your daughter and be responsible or you can throw your life away...and her life too. It's up to you. How much do you love her? How much do you love yourself?" Mark asked. He tried to keep his voice down as to not come across as an ass hole, but rather as a friend looking out for a friend.  
  
"I love Erica with every fucking thing I've got, you know that," Roger yelled in reply. "I don't want her to see me as 'the dad who couldn't do anything right except play the guitar.' But what qualifications do I have for any job? I have none, Mark. None."  
  
Mark knew that this was somewhat true, but not completely. Roger was never the smartest in his class. And he was a junkie for the majority of his life. If you needed a definition for irresponsible, Roger was it. Hell, his picture would probably be featured in the dictionary for the word negligent. But Mark couldn't let Roger know that he was right. There had to be something that Roger could do for money, but what? It dawned on him. Collins. Collins would have the answer. Collins would be able to help Roger out. Mark told Roger that he had to go shoot some footage of Maureen at some protest, though he was really going to find Collins and tell him everything.  
  
Once Mark was gone, Roger sprawled out on the couch, rereading April's note a hundred thousand times until he was interrupted.  
  
"Daddy?" a little voice called. Roger sat up on the couch and saw his daughter approaching him, rubbing her eye with one hand as the other dragged a pink blanket that Angel had made for her when she was born.  
  
Roger ran over to Erica and scooped her up into his arms. He rocked her and kissed her, thanking God that he still had his daughter. If April had taken Erica with her when she left, he would've completely lost it. Erica was the one person he loved as much as his wife.  
  
"Daddy, why were you screaming before? You and Uncle Mark...you woke me up," she said, rubbing her eyes once again.  
  
Roger pulled her close to his chest and held her tightly. He didn't know what to tell her. He could tell her that he was fighting with Mark, but then he'd have to tell her that her mom ran out on them. He knew she'd ask where her mommy was eventually, but Roger would never be ready to tell her.  
  
"God," he wondered to himself, "Why me?" He looked into Erica's eyes—the same blue eyes that adorned April's face.  
  
"Collins! Collins, look we need to talk. Now. It can't wait," Mark said. He bent over, trying to catch his breath.  
  
"Mark, I'm teaching," Collins muttered in front of his night school class. "Are you sure this can't wait?"  
  
Mark nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "April—left—note—Roger—gone—she's—not coming back," he finally was able to complete his jumbled sentence.  
  
"Excuse me class," Collins said. The students all looked intrigued and excited about this whole situation. They wanted to know what was up, but Collins escorted Mark outside the classroom, where the students couldn't hear a word.  
  
"What are you talking about? I heard words come out of your mouth, but what the hell you were trying to say is beyond me," Collins said.  
  
"April left Roger a note. She left him. She left him to take care of Erica. April's gone and she's not coming back."  
  
Collins stuck his head back into his classroom, asking his teacher's assistant Rod to take over teaching the class. Collins knew that he had to go and see Roger.  
  
"Collins do you think you can...help him out? Find him work...something?" Mark begged.  
  
"Not for his sake. It's not my fault he screwed up his life with drugs and shit. But I'll help him for Erica's sake. God knows I don't want her growing up with a fuck up as a father. I could never forgive myself if I looked into those blue eyes, knowing that I didn't do anything when I know I could've done something to help. What the hell can he do though? He has the mind of a sixteen year old. NYU doesn't want sixteen year olds running around doing important business," Collins explained.  
  
"Then don't give him important stuff to do. But there has to be something you can do. He's really willing to work even if it's something little. Fuck April for supporting him for the past couple years. If she hadn't have left him today, he never would've had to even look for work," Mark bitched. "And she didn't even leave him a penny. Bitch." 


	2. Chapter 2

Collins and Mark walked through the parking lot until they found Collins' beat-up used car. It was the best he could do for the money he had. They sped their way through the streets of New York until they arrived at the apartment. Collins got his keys ready and ran up the stairs and opened the door.  
  
"Oh fuck no..." he said.  
  
"What?" Mark said a few seconds later when he had finally gotten up the stairs and into the apartment. "Oh God."  
  
They both stared at Roger in astonishment. Erica was lying asleep on the couch and Roger was sitting next to her. It would've been a Kodak moment if Roger didn't have three empty beer bottles and a bunch of smack lying on the table in front of him.  
  
"And you want me to find him a fucking job? This is exactly why I don't want to help him this time," Collins said, storming through the living room and into his own bedroom.  
  
"I shouldn't have left you here alone. I should've known better. Why didn't I see this coming?" Mark yelled at himself for letting this happen. He stared at Erica and then at Roger. "You're a fucking idiot. I thought you gave all this shit up."  
  
"Huh?" Roger asked in a daze.  
  
Mark wanted to smack the shit out of Roger, but instead, he just picked Erica up and started to carry her into his room.  
  
"Put my fucking daughter down you goody two shoes pussy," Roger yelled.  
  
"There's no way in hell I'm leaving her with you when you're like this. April tells you to stop your drugs and to stop drinking and you do. She gets up and walks out and what do you do? You start all that shit up again. Maybe you should just put Erica up for adoption or something...she'd get a better home than this piece of shit we live in!" Mark said. He didn't want to wake Erica up and expose her to all the stupid things that her father was doing. "Put her in my room," Roger demanded.  
  
Mark refused. Normally, Erica and Roger shared a bed since there was not enough space in the bedroom for two beds, but Mark wouldn't dare let that happen tonight. Mark tucked Erica into his own bed and rushed out of his room when he heard Maureen. She would be the only thing that could brighten up his day at this point.  
  
"Mark! Mark, are you home? Mark I got your call where are you?" Maureen called. She looked over at the couch and shook her head in disappointment. Roger was knocked out now. Maureen went over to the sink and got the washcloth, wiping up the spilled beer and the Roger's stash that had also spilled over the coffee table. "Fucker," she mumbled as she heard Mark running over to her.  
  
He didn't even say a word to her when he first saw her. He just kissed her. She really was the only thing that made the day worth living.  
  
Maureen pulled away and said, "This is one fucked up situation. Have we heard from April at all? A call? Anything?"  
  
Mark shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "I can't believe this," he said, pointing to Roger. "I can't believe he went back to all of this. It's crazy. And you should've seen him when we got in! Erica was asleep right next to him and he was shooting up! How stupid is he?"  
  
Maureen hugged her boyfriend and whispered, "Don't ever do something like this to me baby." She nuzzled her head in his shoulder and pushed Roger off of the couch, where they eventually fell asleep in each other's arms.  
  
Roger awoke on the floor. He rubbed his head and noticed a bump. He didn't know how he ended up on the floor until he saw Maureen and Mark on the couch. He figured they must've pushed him off so they could do God knows what on the couch. That must've been how he got that bump. He looked at the nearest clock. 1:30 in the afternoon.  
  
"No ones up?" he wondered to himself. Maureen and Mark were still comfortably sleeping on the couch. Roger stood up and stumbled around the apartment. Collins had left for work. "Where's Erica?" he wondered. He vaguely recalled his fight with Mark.  
  
"Put her in my room," he had demanded.  
  
He checked in Mark's room when he remembered that Mark refused to put Erica in Roger's room. There she was, sitting on the floor, thumbing through one of Mark's Playboys.  
  
"Woah, woah, woah! You don't need to be looking at this," he said, snatching the magazine out of his daughter's little hands. He looked at the cover and tossed it under Mark's bed. He then crouched down beside her and grabbed her by the shoulders, frightening her a bit.  
  
"God I love you kid," he said.  
  
"I love you too Daddy," she said and smiled sweetly.  
  
One would think that that sweet voice would be enough motivation for Roger to wake up and smell the coffee. Saying that his life was extremely screwed up would be saying the understatement of the century. His wife left him. His wife left him with nothing. His wife left him with his daughter. He still didn't know how the hell he was supposed to raise her successfully. Drugs. He couldn't get away from them. He had been clean for so long and everyone was proud of him. He was especially proud of that accomplishment. He scolded himself for returning to drugs the second something went wrong. Drinking. He never really gave that up completely—drinking was the one thing he had left to make him feel good after he gave up drugs—well, drinking and sex with April of course. He didn't have that anymore either. It was like his whole life got fucked up—again—in a period of twenty-four hours—and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew that he couldn't turn to his roommates for help, at least, not after last night's events. He was literally on his own now and he felt more alone then he ever had.  
  
Roger picked his daughter up into his arms and walked into the kitchen. He looked for something to eat. There, of course, was nothing, but that wasn't any new news.  
  
"You're up," Roger said when he noticed Mark sitting up with a blank stare on his face.  
  
"You're up too," Mark replied.  
  
An awkward silence fell over the room. Roger took his free hand, the hand that was not supporting Erica, and rubbed his forehead.  
  
"You alright?" Mark asked.  
  
Roger didn't answer. He set Erica down on the table in front of him and stared expressionlessly at Mark.  
  
"Roger? Roger? Roger!" he finally yelled.  
  
Roger fell to the ground. His body crashed and Erica screamed. Mark ran over to where Roger had been standing. Mark fanned his hand over Roger's face, screaming at the top of his lungs for Roger to wake up.  
  
"Roger! Come on man wake up! Roger come on!" he screamed.  
  
"Mark? What's going on?" Maureen said sleepily. It took her but a minute to realize that something was seriously wrong. She ran over to Erica and Mark. Erica was crying and Mark was trying to hold his own tears back.  
  
"Maureen call someone! A doctor! An ambulance! I don't fucking care just call someone," Mark demanded.  
  
Maureen ran over to the coffee table where the phone was carelessly put, off the hook.  
  
"It's dead Mark!" she screamed.  
  
"Get Collins!" Mark replied.  
  
"Pookie, Collins is at work," she recalled that Collins had mentioned that he had to work extra hours today.  
  
"I don't care. Go get him! Tell him I took Roger to the hospital and get him to meet me there!" Mark said as he picked his friend up and dragged him over to the couch. "Take Erica with you," he said as he realized he didn't want to take her with him.  
  
Maureen ran over and picked Erica up and ran out to her car. "I'll meet you at the hospital later!" she called to Mark as he carried Roger into his own car.  
  
Mark sped down the streets, occasionally looking into the back seat to check on Roger. He didn't move. He wouldn't respond to anything.  
  
"Please don't let him be dead. Please don't..." Mark repeated to himself time and time again until he reached the hospital. It only took fifteen minutes to get there, but it seemed like an eternity.  
  
An EMT greeted Mark and as he helped Mark get Roger out of the backseat, he asked, "What happened?"  
  
Mark didn't know what to tell him. "He just sort of...fell over about a half an hour ago and he hasn't moved since then. He won't answer me or anything," Mark said, gasping for breath. He stood and watched as six EMTs hoisted Roger onto a stretcher and pushed him through the hospital, running at lightning speeds. Mark sat down on the curb, rubbing his temples and trying to comprehend what was happening.  
  
It wasn't long after Mark's arrival that Maureen and Collins ran up to the curb where Mark was seated, dragging Erica, who was straggling, by the hand.  
  
"Why aren't you inside?" Maureen asked.  
  
"Where's Roger? What the heck is going on?" he said, refraining from using the word "hell" or "fuck" in front of Erica.  
  
Most of the time, no one ever held back the swear words in front of her, but Collins always did. He knew that she would be messed up in the head enough, just from living with a bunch of lunatic bohemians. He didn't want to add to the insanity.  
  
"I wish I could tell you. They told me to stay in the waiting room but I hate hospitals. I haven't been in one since Erica was born and I'd like it to stay that way," Mark said drearily.  
  
"You're going to have to go in there eventually Mark," Maureen said. "You're his best friend. You're basically the only one that can keep him sane now."  
  
"Maybe...but he probably fucking died," Mark replied. He looked up at Collins who was giving him a glare for cursing in front of Erica. "Sorry."  
  
"Well I'm going in. You're welcome to join me now or later I don't care. I'll be out as soon as I find out what the hell—excuse me—heck—is going on here," Collins said sternly.  
  
He let go of Erica's hand and Mark saw that Erica immediately became scared. Collins had always been like a giant teddy bear. He could make any situation better and that was always helpful, especially with Erica around. The things that Erica had witnessed growing up were horrible and Collins had always hoped those memories would leave her. Most kids don't remember their early life, but so many profound things happened in their apartment that it would be hard for her to forget, even if she was so young.  
  
"Excuse me, miss. Do you know where I can find Roger Davis? He was just brought in here a little while ago, like say, twenty minutes ago?" Collins asked the receptionist.  
  
The woman punched a bunch of keys in. She typed really fast, but not as fast as Collins. Computers were his life, but he'd rather have his friends than his work.  
  
"He was rushed into the ER as soon as he got here. He's still there. I doubt you can visit him. I don't have any information on his status right now, but I could have someone check for you," she said. She had an annoying, nasal voice.  
  
"If that wouldn't be too much trouble," Collins requested.  
  
The receptionist walked over to a tenant that was just sitting around. She bent over and instructed him to take care of a few things, Collins imagined that this guy would be the one to go check on Roger. The receptionist moved, giving Collins a full view of the tenant.  
  
"Wow," he thought. "He's easy on the eyes," he whispered to himself. "Oh snap out of it Collins, control your hormones!" he thought. Disciplining himself, he looked away.  
  
"You can wait in the waiting room," the receptionist called out to Collins.  
  
"Well that's almost logical," he said to himself, laughing at his own joke.  
  
He strolled over to a small room where other people were—you guessed it—waiting. Some were crying, some were laughing. Collins picked up a copy of "Technology Today" and read it, trying to get his mind off of things.  
  
A few minutes later, Collins was joined by Maureen and Mark. He could tell that Mark had been crying. Maureen wanted to cry, but she had to be strong for Mark's sake. She wasn't really one to cry anyway.  
  
"Any word?" Maureen asked, still holding Mark tightly.  
  
Collins shook his head and held out his hand above the seats next to him, signaling that it would be best if they all just sat down. Erica hopped on Collins' lap and just stared at the pictures in his magazine.  
  
Finally, after what seemed like, years, the tenant walked into the waiting room and called for "April Davis." Collins looked at Maureen and Mark uneasily. Mark shrugged and Maureen did likewise.  
  
"I'm April Davis," she said and walked over to the tenant, occasionally looking back at Mark and Collins nervously.  
  
"What is she doing?" Mark asked Collins. Collins put his hand on Mark's shoulder.  
  
"I'm sure everything will be fine. Or she'll get arrested for fraud. We'll just have to sit it out and wait," Collins said, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, though it wasn't a very funny one.  
  
The tenant walked with Maureen, or April, depending on how you looked at the situation, up to Roger's room.  
  
"Can I see him?" she asked. She tried to tear up a bit. Her acting skills were finally coming in handy.  
  
"I don't think that'd be such a great idea, but if you want to, you can. He's hooked up to all kinds of machines. It's not a pretty sight, I just want to warn you," the tenant, Louis, said.  
  
Maureen really didn't want to go into Roger's room. She hated seeing people hooked up to IVs and machines ever since she had to visit her father in the hospital after he had a severe heart attack when she was only eight.  
  
"Can you just tell me how he is then? Is he any better? Is he even alive?" Maureen asked, hoping to get all of the information out of Louis as she could.  
  
"Is he alive? Yes. Is he doing better? No. Things aren't going to well for him right now," Louis explained.  
  
"Look he has—we have—a daughter. He has to live, you don't understand," Maureen pleaded.  
  
"Mrs. Davis, this is what drugs and alcohol do to people," Louis replied.  
  
"The drugs. I should've known it was the drugs," Maureen whispered.  
  
"Mrs. Davis I think you may want to just go home. He won't be leaving here for awhile. It's best you just go," the tenant suggested.  
  
Maureen saw this as a perfect opportunity to practice her "angry skills" for future acting gigs.  
  
"Go? Go? Are you kidding me? My husband is damn near death and you want me to leave his side? Oh the humanity!" she yelled.  
  
Louis gave her a funny look. "Well, if you want to stay..." he said. "Are there any more people here for Mr. Davis? I'll tell them about his condition as soon as you give me some health information about your husband. I'll need a few cards, his driver's license, health insurance card, social security card—all that stuff."  
  
"Uh...um, maybe it's in his wallet?" Maureen asked nervously. "He usually keeps it in his back pocket."  
  
Louis went in to check and Maureen started freaking out. She didn't know where the cards were. She didn't have the slightest idea. One would think that a man's wife would know the location of such things.  
  
"Got it," Louis said. Maureen sighed a breath of relief.  
  
"If you don't mind, I think I'd like to tell my friends about Roger," Maureen said. Louis agreed that that was fine.  
  
Maureen ran back down to the waiting room. Mark was pacing and Collins had fallen asleep. Erica was just sitting there trying to occupy herself. Mark lit up when he saw Maureen. "Well, how is he?" he asked.  
  
Maureen wasn't quite sure how to say what she needed to say. Who wants to tell someone that their best friend is dying? No one. How do you go about saying that?  
  
"He's not doing well. At all," Maureen finally said.  
  
Mark ran to her and cried into her shoulders, not caring about how "manly" he didn't look. Real men cry. Collins woke up and saw what was happening. His immediate thoughts were, "Ok, Roger's gone," but he saw Maureen mouth the words, "Roger's not doing well." That soothed his fears...kind of. Not doing well. That means he's not doing good. That basically means he's dying.  
  
The next day, Maureen awoke in the apartment on the couch next to Mark.  
  
"Mark, did you sleep at all?" she asked.  
  
He didn't respond verbally. He just shook his head. Maureen didn't know what to do with her boyfriend. He was so "dead" since the prior day's happenings. He didn't speak a word to anyone since they left the hospital. He just cried until he had no tears left.  
  
"Did you put the phone on the hook like I asked you to?" he finally spoke.  
  
"Yes, Pookie," Maureen said, smiling at his voice.  
  
"Good, I don't want to miss any calls from the hospital."  
  
As if it were planned, the phone rang. Mark shot up from his seat and ran to the phone to be sure he was the one to answer it. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N – Thanks for the reviews. I only got 2 so far, but hey, at least I know someone's reading. I can always use advice and compliments are always nice. I love to know what people think of my writing, whether they like it or not—it always helps me improve. =)  
  
3 Leila  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Mark refused to screen the call. He needed to talk to the hospital as soon as he could.  
  
"Hello?" he answered.  
  
"Mark? That you?" Roger asked, coughing between each word.  
  
"ROGER?" Mark yelled directly into the phone.  
  
"Fuck, Mark! Don't yell in my ear. I have the worst headache. I'm not even supposed to be on the phone. I snuck out of my room."  
  
"Rebel. How do you feel? Are you going to live to see tomorrow?"  
  
"Mark, I'm not dying...physically anyway. Emotionally, I'm dead."  
  
"Roger do us all a favor. Quit the shit. Hey that rhymed!"  
  
"You'll always be a loser Mark Cohen. But, seriously, you don't realize how hard it is to stop. You've always been the goody goody who didn't do drugs or anything. You don't understand, you really don't. Don't preach to me."  
  
"But you were doing so good. You were clean for so long."  
  
"Things were okay then. April left. I've got Erica. What do you expect? What would you do if you were in my place?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"They want to send me to some nuthouse. They said I'm a fuckin' manic depressive. They say I'll go to some rehab program there."  
  
"That's great...well...sort of! Did you agree?"  
  
"Fuck no! I'm getting out of this place if it kills me! I'm not a nut and I don't belong in a fucking nuthouse!"  
  
"Rog, this could really help you. You could get clean again. You can start over. You won't be gone for a really long time, will you?"  
  
"They want to keep me in that place for a year! They want to do some fucking research on me! I'm not a fucking lab rat Mark! And they won't let anyone see me! Don't let them make me go."  
  
"I can't stop them. I'm not your parent. You're an adult."  
  
"They can't just carry me off, can they?"  
  
"I don't know. I've never been to a mental institute."  
  
"Maybe you belong in one but I sure as hell don't. They think I tried to kill myself."  
  
Mark didn't know what to say.  
  
"Did you?"  
  
"Try to kill myself? Come on Mark..."  
  
"Come on Roger...You can't run away from your problems by just—ending it all."  
  
"You think they're right don't you! Some best friend I've got!"  
  
Mark looked at Maureen, who could hear screaming through the phone. "He hung up on me," Mark said emotionlessly. "They think he tried to commit suicide with the drugs and the drinking. They want to institute him."  
  
Maureen just stood there. She too, had no idea how to react to such a statement. Maureen never quite understood Roger. If April wasn't in the room, he was a bitter young man. April was the one thing, besides Erica, that made his life worth living and Maureen never understood why. Maybe that was because she wasn't married and didn't have a child, but even so, she was genuinely happy without those things. She was happy living the life she was living with Mark as her boyfriend.  
  
The phone rang again.  
  
Maureen swerved around the table so that she could answer it and give Mark a chance to rest his body and his mind.  
  
"Screen it Maureen," Mark demanded. Maureen backed away from the phone immediately and listened as the answering machine picked up the call.  
  
"Mark? Mark, look, it's me again—Roger."  
  
Maureen left the room so that Mark and the answering machine could have a moment together, alone.  
  
"Man, I'm sorry. I'm so fucked up in every way possible."  
  
Mark couldn't argue that.  
  
"And I'll be honest..."  
  
There was a long pause. "When I was drinking...and shooting up...and all that shit...I was hoping I'd die..."  
  
Mark took his hand and covered his mouth and tried not to scream.  
  
"I know you're there...screening. Don't waste your time. Don't pick up. I'm going to wherever the hell they want me to go...I just want to see my baby before I go. Can you bring Erica over here later? If you don't want to I don't blame you. I wouldn't want to see me either—not like this."  
  
He hung up. Mark knew why. Roger was crying and Roger didn't like to let people know when he needed to cry. Mark wasn't sure if he wanted to return Roger's call. He understood Roger's desire to see Erica, but Roger wasn't supposed to have visitors.  
  
"I can't just smuggle a four-year-old into a hospital," Mark said to Maureen. "and I'm sure I wouldn't be able to smuggle a four-year-old in to see a—er—a—," he stopped mid-sentence. He couldn't bare to call his best friend mental case.  
  
"I know Mark sweetie. You can't bring her in there," Maureen said quietly, staring at her feet.  
  
"First April goes. Now Roger's going. Who the fuck is supposed to take care of Erica?" Mark yelled.  
  
"Mark calm down," Maureen whispered calmly. She sauntered over to him and embraced him. "Don't you think we should? Roger probably assumes we will."  
  
"Assume. That's all he ever fucking does. What if I say 'no' and just refuse to take care of her? She's not my responsibility!"  
  
"No Mark she's not. She's not my responsibility either. But honestly Mark, would you ever say no to her angel face?"  
  
Mark shook his head and plopped on the couch saying, "But what the hell do we tell her when she starts asking where Roger and April are? What are we supposed to tell her Maureen? 'Oh, your mom ran out on you and your dad's in a mental institute! Don't worry they'll be back!' Yeah Maureen if she asks, you tell her because I won't. I don't want to be the one to tell her what kind of fucked up family she's from."  
  
Maureen could sense the anger coming from her boyfriend. Whenever Mark got mad at Roger, he really got angry. Roger was the only one that Mark ever got really upset with. Maureen had always assumed that it was that "brotherly" thing, where they vowed to look out for each other. Maureen snapped out of her thoughts when she heard Erica come out of her bedroom.  
  
"Oh God, here it comes," Mark muttered just loudly enough so that Maureen could hear. Maureen was tempted to hit him, but instead went over to Erica.  
  
"Hey sweetie," she said sweetly.  
  
Erica looked around the loft. Was she hoping to turn around and she April's bright smile? Was she praying that Roger would walk through the door with his arms spread out wide, just so she could run into them and he could scoop her up and twirl her in the air? That wouldn't happen—not for at least another one year, when Roger would return.  
  
"Want to go play?" Maureen asked, not knowing what else to do. "Uncle Mark will play dolls with us if you'd like. Isn't that right Uncle Mark?"  
  
He groaned from behind the couch. This wasn't the time to make him play dolls.  
  
"I drew my daddy a picture. I want to give it to him," Erica explained. "See!"  
  
Erica handed Maureen a piece of white paper. Maureen turned it every which way, trying to make out what Erica had drawn.  
  
"Tell me about it," Maureen finally suggested after giving up trying to figure out what the picture was of.  
  
"That's me in my pretty pink dress," the little girl began. "And that's daddy and his guitar. He's right next to me because he told me he'd never leave me."  
  
Mark peered over the couch at Maureen to see her reaction to this. He could sense the awkwardness Maureen was feeling.  
  
"And mommy's over there," Erica said, pointing to a stick figure with yellow lines for hair who was halfway off the page. "I don't know where mommy is."  
  
Maureen could hear Mark muttering obscenities from the couch across the room.  
  
"I want to give the picture to my dad!" Erica said once again.  
  
"I'll have Uncle Mark give it to him, is that ok?" Maureen asked, hoping the girl wouldn't ask for any details. Luckily, Erica agreed and went skipping through the loft, looking for her jump rope.  
  
Mark ran towards Maureen, and grabbed the drawing out of her hand, wrinkling the paper in the process. Without a word, he stormed through the loft and left. Maureen didn't bother to ask in fear that he would just take his frustrations out on her.  
  
"Can I see Roger Davis? It's an emergency," he said to the old woman at the hospital's front desk.  
  
"And you are?" she asked.  
  
"Mark Cohen. We're...brothers."  
  
"With different last names? Never mind—I won't ask—none of my business."  
  
The woman typed information into the computer and relayed any information she could give out to Mark. He thanked her and ran to room 412 where he would find Roger.  
  
Knock.  
  
Mark slowly opened the door, exposing a rather morbid room. The walls were grey but the paint was peeling. The shades were pulled down and the flowers Maureen had brought Roger were wilted. The balloons Erica had sent her father were deflated and they now were in a pile on the floor.  
  
"Mark? How the hell did you get in here? I'm not supposed to be able to see anyone," Roger explained in shock.  
  
"I need to give you something," Mark said, fumbling through his back pocket. "Here."  
  
Roger watched as Mark unfolded and unwrinkled a white piece of paper. He could tell that there was something on it, but he couldn't make it out from the angle at which he sitting.  
  
"What's this?" he asked as he examined the drawing. "Erica drew this, no doubt."  
  
"How'd you know? I could've drawn it," Mark joked.  
  
"First of all, you may not be an artist, but you draw better than a four- year-old. Secondly, that's her—in her pink dress. She loves that pink dress," Roger said, tearing up a bit at the memories he had with his daughter.  
  
"You're right. How'd you know that was a—an—anything? We couldn't make out a thing—it's just blobs to me."  
  
"Mark, these aren't blobs. It's artwork. Artwork that makes me feel like a shit head."  
  
"Why? Because she drew April hanging off the page because she hasn't been around and she drew you right next to her since you said you'd never leave her?"  
  
"Thanks Mark, I needed that. Is that what she said?"  
  
"Exactly how she put it," Mark said before a long period of awkward silence. "I better be going."  
  
Mark grabbed his coat and patted Roger on the shoulder. He took one last look around the room and walked towards the door.  
  
"Hey—Mark?" Roger called.  
  
Mark turned around. "Yeah?"  
  
"Take care of Erica for me?"  
  
Mark smiled, "Will do. Good luck man."  
  
The two men smiled at each other, but on the inside, they were frowning. They were about to embark on a one year journey without each other. It had finally sunk in to each of them that that was the last time they'd see each other for an entire year.  
  
I hope you liked it. I was going to abandon this story because I couldn't think of where I wanted to go with it, but I decided not to give up on it. Now I have a pretty good idea of where this story is going. Please review =]  
  
- Leila -  
  
PS – I edited the time in the institute from two years to one because (as Kelby pointed out – thanks!) two years did seem extreme. =) 


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